[We would like to thank Jonah (@LizardwithaZ), for transcribing the following interview after finding a mysterious cassette tape on the streets of Charleston. -Ed.]

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Voice 1: So you want to tell me about tonight, yes? About what you witnessed? What you heard?

Voice 2: What do you want to know? Do you want to know everything? All of it? What it’s like to be…me? To be my kind?

Voice 1: Yes. I’ve been searching for you. I’ve heard tales. Tales of the vampire who–

Voice 2: Phampire.

Voice 1: Pardon?

Voice 2: Not a vampire. I’m a phampire. You see, I feed on jams.

Who was there in the 1840s to partake in Lisztomania? Me.

Who was there to slurp up the exquisite playing of Miles Davis like a plate of spaghetti? Me.

And who nearly over-feasted on jams on an unforgettable night in the swamp in the late '90s? Me.

But I’m not here to talk about that, you see. I’m here to talk about tonight. I’ll tell you about how I was created another time, perhaps. But not now. Now I’ll explain what it’s like to be at a Phish show as a phampire, what it is like to feed on a jam when it loses all restraint, when it fully departs the realm of man and enters the supernatural. That’s the story you want for your little…what did you call it? Blog?

Voice 1: Yes. Go ahead.

Voice 2: Very well. I was famished. You see, the jams only sustain me for so long. In between tours, I go into a kind of hibernation so as not to completely shrivel to nothing, but even inbetween a Friday and Saturday show, my hunger becomes unavoidable. Sure, I can prowl the lot and eat a falafel, as long as it’s made by a wook on location and it won’t harm me, but it also won’t fill me as I need to be filled.

No, for that I need the jams to fill my veins. And tonight, they most certainly did.

The band called Phish took the stage for night 2 here in the Southern Gothic town of Charleston as I perched in the rafters, awaiting my meal for the night.

“The Moma Dance” opened tonight’s show, and I felt my needs begin to be met, even with little touches as extra trills from Trey, but it was when Page brought in a touch of funk, Fishman brought a bit of flair, and then Trey hit the funk siren that I felt my feeding frenzy truly begin. As the jam hit type 2, with a touch of weirdness from Page thrown in, I could feel my strength growing from the power of the jam. A solid return was the sauce on the jam and provided a wonderful first course.

The next song played was “NICU,” and after an unfortunate early flub from Trey, Page’s glorious playing continued to fill my appetite for jams.

Of course, while big jams may sustain me, I am also able to subsist on segues, bust-outs, and pure shredding. The next song played tonight was “Jesus Just Left Chicago,” constituting a significant bust-out, as it was last played 12/3/19. As the chords started and the audience of mortals realized what was happening, the energy from the bust-out swirled around me. The audience awareness added to the strength of the bust-out, feeding me well, as the whole band contributed to an excellent version.

A nailed “Divided Sky,” played with a ton of energy, led to a typically massive crowd response during the pause. I waited impatiently for the pause to end so that I could continue to feed, and Trey’s playing delivered in the ending section, just as you mortals might have a pizza delivered to your house.

“Destiny Unbound” followed and, with a funky breakdown from Page, had the whole room dancing---even me up in my perch.

You might wonder if what has been labeled by some as a “cool-down” song will also feed me. “Monsters” fit the bill perfectly here, with what started as a cool-down quickly moving into Trey shredding with both his guitar and vocals. A lovely digestif, if you will.

I can only assume that someone told the band that a phampire was present tonight, because otherwise, why else would they play “Plasma” as a reference to my undead relatives, those vampires drinking blood instead of jams? This particular “Plasma” was a filling entree, with a slinky entry to the jam. Mike’s bass thumped the room and Fishman shined early, as the band found a little calypso-ish beat. Page brought things down a level, and I could feel my phangs starting to pop out. Page and Trey’s interplay only made this jam taste better. A tremendous peak left me entirely sated for a moment, but before I could even acknowledge how well my hunger had been fed, “Bathtub Gin” came in to end the set with a driving peak and incendiary playing all around.

I anxiously waited through setbreak as I digested the first set, and before long, the lights were down once again and the band had returned to the stage.

Set 2 opened with a classic “Mike’s Groove.” The combination of “Mike’s Song,” “I Am Hydrogen,” and “Weekapaug Groove” would taste delicious no matter what, but each of these versions were wonderful on their own merits as well. “Mike’s” felt filthy very quickly, in the best possible way. The “Hydrogen” was played nearly perfectly, and the ensuing 'Paug quickly found a fast groove with utter destruction from Mike. Trey brought the sustain and then entered into darkness before coming back to the 'Paug ending. While nothing in this sequence went longer than 12 minutes on its own, this 22 minutes of combined music did feed me well.

And yet, that was nothing compared to the next 31 minutes of music that began with “Mercury.” The band quickly found a danceable groove in this version, after a strong reading of the composed section. Trey brought in an almost oceanic feel, and Page’s soundscapes made this version shine. With some bliss and a stunning peak, this jam appeared to be my main course of the evening, but after dropping back into a new groove briefly, “Soul Planet” arrived like a swirling black hole to prolong my bounteous feast. Page again fed me with his playing as the room did indeed seem to be screaming through space. This sequence finished with Trey entering guitar god mode to elevate a blistering couplet to even higher heights.

In that moment, I felt full beyond belief, so the placement of “Joy” came as a welcome respite. A well-played version in a perfect spot in the set seemed appreciated by the weak humans around me who were clearly tired from dancing all night.

“Harry Hood” appeared to round out the set, and this felt like a forceful version with a filling peak. And yet, sometimes the most unexpected things can happen, and just like you might force yourself to take a few more bites from your meal because it is just so good, I found myself having to continue to feed as the band tricked even Chris Kuroda into thinking the set was over before launching into a delectable “I Am the Walrus,” a surprise ending to the set.

On to dessert, and the a cappella “Carolina,” yet another bust-out for me to feed on, last sung 12/6/19 in that very same room. The final cherry on top would be “Say It To Me SANTOS,” a fitting rocker to close out another show.

And with that, I was fed for the night. I will return again tomorrow night to feed again.

But I do grow lonely sometimes. Perhaps you would like to join me as a phampire? You see, there is always room for more of us, and there will always be jams to feed on.

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